To Waver
by Donroth
Summary: This is Psuedo Sue a.k.a. an attempt at a serious (hopefully different) approach to an earthgirl goes to ME.
1. Introduction

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's works. This is actually an establishing story for an AU based on the Silmarillion. It falls under the definition of a Mary Sue for people who classify all OFCs from earth who happen to interact with major characters in Canon as MS.  
  
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Earthlings do not age in Middle Earth. This is what she figured out. When she stumbled into a small village in Westemnet, nearly dead from dehydration and hunger, she was but twenty years of age. It was a time when strangers would not be turned away. To be treated as a young woman in need was expected though she spoke not a word of Rohirric nor Common.  
  
Not wanting her name to be mistaken for black speech, the name she gave them was Araisil. It was but a random translation of her true name generated by a device they would not be able to understand. She did not bother to explain and they had called her Aelfwilde.  
  
Her manner was odd to them but she adjusted accordingly. When in a world not your own, it is the only wise course of action. And so it came to pass that she both spoke and thought in Rohirric, recalling less of that odd language of her birth with every year. She eventually learned to love the family who had taken her into their household and had slowly forgotten about the modern luxuries of her distant world.  
  
But as comfortable as a life on the plains can be, her initial welcome was not meant to last. It came to be of notice to the rest of the village that she did not age when the first babe she helped raise was to be wed. Not a strand of grey had appeared on her already conspicuous dark mane. It was taken as an ill omen, particularly so as dark times had begun to besiege them. The first of the countless devastating orc raids to come had begun in the nearby villages. If it were not for the preeminence of the household to which she belonged, she would have been sooner cast out or worse.  
  
The years passed on. The plains grew darker. Babes of the babes whose births she had witnessed would now pass on before her. When many of the young boys she helped rear were now in the service of the newly crowned Theoden-King, she knew the darkest hour was soon to come.  
  
But to know the cause and end of a forest fire is of no use to the ant caught in its path.  
  
As fate would have it, the head of her household, her last ally, had passed on the day that the King's son Theodred had perished at the hand of orcs. His heir, a mere boy forbidden by his mother's family to associate with the cwalulaes, was distraught over his father's death and pressured by the village elders to finally cast Aelfwilde out of the village. "She has robbed our children of their lives far too long," they had said. Having no particular affection for her but not wanting her life on his conscience, he sent her out with a few days' worth of rations.  
  
For the first time in over 80 years, she ventured onto the open plains of Rohan, once again lost and alone.  
  
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Translations:  
  
Aelfwilde – Wild Elf  
  
Cwalulæs – Death Less 


	2. The Plains

Disclaimer:  Don't own anything Tolkien.  Still don't have an official beta so be forewarned.  I tried to use some Old English to mimic how Rohirric was portrayed in the books.  I hope it works but any comments would be welcome.  =)

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She had walked for seventeen days now.  The last of her rations had been used three days ago.  It was no minor feat that four days worth of food had lasted that long.  Now oblivious to the pangs of hunger that gnawed at her stomach, she sat on the rocky plains, transfixed on the arm raised before her.  

A rivulet of blood trickled down.  She traced its origin with her eyes and stared at the gash across her palm where the rock had cut through.  _'The pain ought be sharper,'_ she thought.  _'The sun hath dulled mine senses'_

She vaguely sifted through her memories for a word from her world.  _'What was it?  Ah, Yes!  Heatstroke!'_

A tiny surge of hope flowed through her at the recall.  Gathering enough reserved energy, she stood and let out a defiant cry.  "I will not give in! Death shall not claim me in this manner!"

No sooner as she did so, she collapsed, the last of her strength exhausted.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She awoke to darkness.  A hood of sorts had been placed over her head.  Her mouth was gagged while her hands and feet were bound behind her back.  No sooner than she stirred, she felt heavy footsteps make their way towards her.  Panic filled her and she wondered why she had tempted fate.  Surely it must have been better to starve to death than be eaten by orcs.  She gasped in pain as the tip of a spear pierced her neck.

"Thou shalt not think to move," a deep voice spoke in Rohirric.  "My Lord hath deemed it merciful to have thee fed.  But be thus forewarned, mine spear shalt pierce thine throat ere thou cast a spell against us."  

She recognized the speaker to be of the Rohirrim and she supposed she should be grateful, as death at their hands would be swift compared to being devoured by orcs.  Her hood was removed and she was temporarily blinded by the brightness of the sun.  Her gag was likewise loosed and made to fall around her neck.  She closed her mouth and tried to ease the soreness of her jaw.

Another rider approached with a bowl of food and she ravenously gorged upon the gruel he spoon-fed her. Her meager feast was over all too soon and he poured some water into the same bowl and lifted it to her lips.  She drank eagerly and finished it in three gulps.  She ignored the looks of disgust and proceeded to lick the pieces of food around her mouth that she could reach with her tongue.

Her warden made a move to gag her once again and she quickly whispered her thanks before he stuffed the cloth in her mouth.  He gave her an odd look and then proceeded to cover her head with the hood.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

As evening came, the riders were upset.  A band of orcs had been spotted on the plains.  She could overhear them planning in hushed tones but she made an effort not to listen lest she be accused of spying.  

She lay on the ground until someone dragged her up and threw her over a horse.  Needless to say, it was unbearably difficult to be thrown belly-down across its back with her hands and feet still bound behind her.  She struggled to breathe as her own weight crushed her against the animal.

Her rider mounted and spurred the horse on.  With what must have been great speed, the riders set forth to battle.  With every leap, she felt herself crushed anew.  She retched the meal she was just given but the riders did not stop until she heard them roar war cries and the deafening sounds of combat rang through her ears.

Disgusting grunts and feral roars mixed with screams and even sadistic laughter.  What she would have given to be able to cover her ears.  Metal clashed against metal and she could hear the sounds of death encircling her.

_'To perish at the hands of orcs is my lot after all,'_ she thought sardonically.  

As if in answer to her thoughts, the horse she was on reared and both she and her rider were flung off.  Fate chose this opportune time to cast off her hood, allowing her to witness the battle with her eyes.  What she saw horrified her.  

As she lifted her lids, the sight of a Rohirrim soldier decapitating an orc greeted her.  Its black blood splattered across her face.  The stench overwhelmed her and she retched once more.  Her ribs throbbed as they had probably been broken with the fall.  She could do naught but lay still and sob as pain shot through her entire body.

The battle raged on and the riders eventually prevailed.  It was a miracle she had not been killed yet.  _'Perhaps 'tis for I resemble a corpse,'_ she vaguely reflected.   

She was barely conscious when a rider poked her side to see if she was still alive.  She could do nothing but whimper in response.  How she longed to completely pass from consciousness and be free of her torment.  But it was a luxury she would be denied.  With the stench of burning orc-flesh filling her nostrils, she was hooded and thrown over a horse once again.  

They rode away into the dawn.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?" a strong voice called from afar.  The riders were instantly alert.  She felt her rider turn the horse and position his spear.  She had no need to remove her hood for she could see the image of the riders encircling three cloaked hunters vividly in her mind.

_'The fellowship is come,'_ she thought bitterly.


	3. Freedom

Disclaimer:  
  
I've decided to follow movieverse instead of bookverse for reasons that will hopefully be apparent later in the story. To anyone who has been reading this and waiting for an update, I apologize for the extremely long delay. Law school can be such a distraction from writing. =)  
  
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Walking.  
  
Forever walking.  
  
That seemed to be her lot in this world. And what an expanse of a world it was. She could no longer remember a reality where she could have easily traversed the same in unimaginable time and comfort, flying further and faster than even the fabled eagles of the elven gods. Now, her addled mind could sparsely comprehend the aweful speed and distance of the mythical Mearas.  
  
Walking.  
  
Strange how it has only been a week since she was set free by the riders. Though, set free and exiled would be one and the same.  
  
Walking.  
  
The fellowship had been the trigger for their sudden mercy. It was dwarven astuteness and not elven eyes that drew their attention to the captive in their midst. The great king – nay, he was no king yet – had remarked that letting her go would be better than having her eat into the horsemen's rations. Enough blood had been spilt, besides, if she was indeed a spy of Saruman. As for her safety, if she be innocent, let them not interfere with the obvious banishment she was to serve.  
  
Walking.  
  
And thus, she was unbound and set loose. She was also given a generous skin of water – perhaps to compensate for her ill treatment. The Rohirrim were noble men, she knew. In times such as this, their suspicion was but appropriate. The fellowship did naught but remind them of the goodness that was already within.  
  
Breathing.  
  
The only glimpse she had of the fellowship was that of two horses riding away, their riders off to fulfill their mission, without another thought for she whom they had saved.  
  
Falling.  
  
Strange how she had all but fully healed without the help of a healer or any herbs. It would not even have come to her notice if the binding upon her chest had not been undone as she fell. Never had she been injured that severely and only now had the thought come to her mind. Tears began to fall as she realized, as the fates would have it, she would not die in this world unless some other savior intervened.  
  
Weeping.  
  
As she sobbed, the sky deemed it best to bless and mock her. Rain began to trickle down upon the rocky terrain. Soon it began to rage and she desperately sought for shelter. Catching her death seemed awful, for now she knew that it was not death but further discomfort that awaited if she allowed herself to remain in the downpour.  
  
Running.  
  
Just a bit further, she could see caverns forming out of a mountain. She should have been alarmed for there ought not to have been any ranges near. But shelter was what she needed and that was all she could hold in her mind.  
  
Climbing.  
  
Never mind the jagged rocks that pierced her hands and bare feet as she purposely made her way to the largest cavern. Ah, to be out of the rain. She had accomplished her quest. A smile formed, a stranger to her lips, quickly dissipating as strains of a raspy voice sang from within the depths of the cavern. Elation gave way to fear. Fear gave way to hope. She knew the song. She remembered its language. It was the Noldolantë. A frail light glowed from within and she began to seek its source.  
  
Walking.  
  
Further into the cave she went, feeling her way through the darkness when her eyes could not discern the outline of the walls. The voice became clearer. The air became thicker. The stench, near unbearable. Rotting flesh, urine and feces. She knew not why she sought its source.  
  
Stumbling.  
  
A rational mind would have run away with much speed. Hers was not a rational mind. What she would find, she dared not presume. All she knew was that, at the least, her desire for death might be granted.  
  
Walking.  
  
Turning a curve, she could see the lantern. It was elven, she thought for sure. A lone figure, from whom the song emanated, cowered away from its light as though afraid of being burned. Dark locks dulled and long from centuries of neglect covered its face and most of its body. But its slightly glowing skin, revealed beneath the tatters, belied the creature's nature. It seemed to be unaware of her presence. Her mind grasped for the words she once knew so well. As softly as she could, she spoke.  
  
"Mae govannen."  
  
The figure did not stir though the song ceased. It seemed that only her words of greeting now resonated within the cave. Odd that the stranger's song bore no echo as well.  
  
Silence.  
  
She sat across the chamber, as far from the figure as she could without losing sight of her. Yes, it was female, she could now tell by the curves revealed now and then as the figure would shift. As Aelfwilde's eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she could note that underneath the grime, her companion's skin was suppler than hers. 'I suppose it is but natural for one of the eldar,' she thought.  
  
The stranger began to cackle as though she heard Aelfwilde's thoughts. It was as a million voices had spoken in a singular hushed tone.  
  
"We are many things and yet none of those that you could possibly comprehend," the stranger mocked in the language of Aelfwilde's true home.  
  
Fear gripped Aelfwilde anew. The stranger's words petrified her. She could not flee. There was no choice but to steel her emotions.  
  
"Who... who are... who are you?" she managed to stammer through her terror, stumbling through with the now unfamiliar language.  
  
"We are many persons, all you have known yet none you have met," the stranger's laugh chilling Aelfwilde soul.  
  
"What do you... want from me?" Aelfwilde's voice trembled.  
  
"Want? It is you that came to us, was it not? We always come home to us," the stranger's multitude of voices crooned.  
  
"I do not... do not under... understand," Aelfwilde pleaded, though for what she did not know.  
  
"Worry not, dear sister. You are home and all will become apparent soon enough," the stranger's chorus sang as a ragged head lifted to face Aelfwilde.  
  
Aelfwilde could do naught but fight the compulsion to cower in dread as she beheld glowing eyes that were identical to her own. 


End file.
